Winter Has Its Meaning
by miloowen
Summary: On the Enterprise-E, Will Riker realises that his symptoms of complex PTSD have returned. Part of the Post-A Million Sherds universe.


Winter Has Its Meaning

The problem, as I see it, with having had extensive therapy is twofold: one, you've become acutely aware of the times in which you are not your authentic self, or are playing games, or are manipulating to fulfill wants instead of needs; and two, you are even more acutely aware of the times in which the treatment you've had is not enough; that it's time to go back and retool.

I was dredging two fillets that were close enough to sea bass to pass for Jean-Luc's favourite meal, sea bass in green sauce, when I realised that I was doing exactly what I no longer needed to do. I was making Jean-Luc's favourite meal, with fresh fish I'd extensively traded for, because I wanted something he might say _no_ to, so I was back to my old default pattern of manipulation. I'd spent my whole career in Starfleet manipulating instead of communicating – for jobs, for promotions, to get things done, for sex. Years on the other end of trauma and Cognitive Behavior Therapy had given me ways to communicate and yet here I was, manipulating the one person I didn't need to.

I missed the galley in our quarters on the _D_ , but at least we still have a galley. The _E_ was streamlined for war, not exploration; it made me long for the old Excelsior class of the _Hood_ , even. I missed Ten Forward; I missed Guinan and her ability to help me stay real. Here on the _E_ I had less of a support system, but that wasn't the reason I was failing in my ability to stay on course with Dr McBride's treatment. The truth was that I was slipping back into old habits and old feelings; I could attribute some of it to the effects of the Dominion War but certainly not all of it. Just as a starship needed a refit every couple of years, so, apparently, did I. And now I'd caught myself conflating Jean-Luc from the man he actually was, with the man I was afraid he was, a man like my father had been.

I sighed, because not only had I fallen into the conflation trap again, but now I was busily berating myself for having failed to maintain my post-treatment level. Another trap, this one the self-hate and the critical judgment that was my father's voice inside my own damned head. When had I stopped reciting my affirmations? When had I stopped my visualisations and using all the other tools in the toolbox McBride had given me? My depression was like the tar slick Armus who had engulfed me after Tasha was killed; a skin that enveloped me and threatened to drown me in despair and self-recrimination. I finished sautéing the greens in raisins and pine nuts, and I was plating our meal when Jean-Luc walked in, straight from the gym.

"Do I have time for a quick shower?" he asked.

"Yeah." I poured the wine.

"Smells wonderful, Will." He smiled at me and walked into the bedroom.

I felt like a rat, and poured myself another glass of wine.

"That was perfect." Jean-Luc set his napkin on the table and took another sip of wine.

"There's dessert," I said.

He said, "Is there some celebration I don't know of? Some tribal holiday, perhaps?"

I stood up and began clearing. "No," I answered. "I just found some bananas – well, they're like bananas – and thought I'd try to do something with them."

He joined me in the galley. "You seem distracted," he said.

Perhaps he wasn't as easy to manipulate as I'd thought. "Sit down. I'll bring it out. Although," I said, "I wouldn't recommend tea with this. Espresso, perhaps?"

"Yes, of course."

It took all of two minutes to caramelize the sugar and cook the bananas, and I ordered two cups of espresso from the replicator. I poured the banana mixture over coconut ice cream and brought it out to the table.

"I had this once, in Paris," Jean-Luc said, dipping his spoon first into the ice cream and the topping it with the caramel sauce and bananas.

"Did you?" I sipped my coffee. It wasn't decaffeinated, another part of my treatment plan that I'd stopped. "It's okay?"

"Of course it's okay." Jean-Luc placed his spoon in the dish. "Why don't you just tell me, Guy, what's going on?"

I shrugged. "There isn't anything going on."

"You prepared one of my favourite meals. There's wine, a special dessert you haven't made before…Will."

"Did you have enough? There's more," I said.

"Sit down."

Had I been waiting for his command voice? I sat.

"Look at me."

I felt like shit. "I'm sorry," I said.

"You could just tell me, you know. Guy. You didn't have to do all of this."

"I've forgotten how."

"I see."

My usual words floated to the surface. This was stupid, and I was difficult, and now, now he was mad at me.

"So we're back to this again?"

"No," I said. And then, "Yes."

"How far are we along, this time?"

That hurt. Had there been a last time? "I wanted to please you," I said, "so that I could ask you something. Something I'm not sure you'll understand. And then you'll tell me _no_. And I couldn't bear it, Jean-Luc, if you told me no." I paused. "I'm sorry."

"For everything. I know." He pushed his chair back. "Why don't you let me clean up, and you go take a shower."

"All right."

We usually took our showers together, but of course, he'd already showered. I heard him cleaning up, and I walked into the head and stripped. I thought about going back out and asking him to join me. I didn't, though. I could feel the numbness settling into my hands and feet. I took a quick sonic shower and put my pyjamas on.

Jean-Luc was on the couch, and he moved over, so I could sit beside him. He pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me, and kissed the top of my head. "I am not your father," he told me. "You don't have to please me."

"I know."

"Nevertheless, you thought you had to."

"I was wrong," I answered, glancing up at him. I tried to smile. "At least I realised I was wrong."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. Before you came in."

"Have I ever told you _no_?"

I looked away, and tried half-heartedly to pull away from him.

"Have you ever asked me, even once, for something you needed? Something _you_ needed, and not the ship?" His voice was kind, and low, and somehow it made me feel worse. I was sure he didn't mean for me to feel worse.

"No, I don't think I have," I said.

"Then why are you so sure I'll say _no_ now?"

"It's stupid."

"Oh, Will," he replied.

He wasn't mad. It was frustration I was hearing. And then I thought, how had I let myself get back to this place, where I couldn't even name what Jean-Luc was expressing? I could feel the numbness creeping up my legs.

"We're not that far from the Neutral Zone," I said, after a while.

"Yes?" He tightened his arm around me.

"I need –" I began.

"What is it you need, _mon cher_?"

"I need some time off," I said. "I've got some leave, I think. A couple of weeks, anyway."

"We could both use some time off," he answered. "I'd thought, after this mission, I might put in for leave myself. We could go to Sitges for the holidays."

It would be Christmas in another month or so. I'd forgotten that, since the holiday still didn't mean that much to me. It didn't mean much to Jean-Luc either, except that it was something his family had always celebrated. It had been three years since we'd last been to his villa in Sitges, for our honeymoon. We'd talked then about buying a boat.

"Guy? That wasn't what you meant, was it?"

"No."

He was watching me now with concern in his eyes. "Is it something about us being near the Neutral Zone?"

"Jean-Luc."

"Go ahead, Will. Take your time."

He was so damned patient with me. "I need to take leave by myself," I said. I didn't want to see the momentary realisation of what I was saying, and then the hurt in his eyes. "I need time. By myself."

"I see," he said, although he didn't. And then he said, straightening a little, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

I'd known, of course, that he'd take it this way. It's why I'd resorted to manipulation to begin with. "It doesn't have to do with us," I said. "Please, Jean-Luc, don't think that it does." I hesitated. "It's me. And I'm sorry I forgot about the holiday."

"How am I supposed to take it, then?" he asked. "If it isn't about us?"

"I'm not doing well," I said. I looked at the deck. There wasn't any real way to salvage the situation now, except by telling the truth. "I'm sick again," I said. "I've stopped following the treatment plan. I can feel it coming back. Like right now. I can't feel my hands or feet."

He sat up, pushing me away. "How long have you known this?"

"I've just figured it out." That was mostly true.

"And the trigger?"

"I don't know."

"What exactly is it that you need leave for?"

Now he was mad. He stood up and headed for the replicator. I sat there, on the couch, ice creeping towards my groin.

"I want –" No, that wouldn't work. I stood up, started toward him.

"Tea, Earl Grey, hot," he said.

He turned to me, and I put my hand on his arm. "I need leave to go to Starbase 515," I said. "We're not that far away, Jean-Luc. I need to see Dr McBride."

"Indeed."

"I've spoken to him." I was desperate. "He thinks it's necessary."

Jean-Luc was still, his mug of tea in his hand. "Then I would like to speak with him."

"He thought you would," I answered.

"Make it so," he said.

My legs were stone.

I would fly the shuttle to SB 515. I wasn't sure what McBride said to him, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. We tiptoed around each other, the last week that I was on the _E_ , and I had the feeling he was second-guessing every order he gave me, wondering if and when there'd be another trigger. I had standing orders to talk to Deanna, and then her standing orders to restart visualisation and affect management. I didn't object. I'd lost focus, and I was second guessing myself. It wasn't a kindness, not to put me on medical leave right away, although I understood Jean-Luc's reluctance to. Medical leave would have set off all kinds of warning bells with the admiralty, and they'd forgiven a lot, for me. They wouldn't be so forgiving, a second time.

I was packing my toiletries when he walked into the bedroom and then stood in the hatch of the head, watching me.

"I should be going with you," he said, finally.

I knew how to do this. "I'll be okay," I answered. "I'll do the work. I will be at –" I hesitated, because the words had once been a trigger for me, "the facility, where everything's already set up. And you know McBride will be there."

"I want to be there with you, Guy."

I still thought I could do this. "I need to learn to do this for myself," I said. "It would be so easy to say yes, Jean-Luc. Bring you with me. But this time I have to do this on my own."

"This time," he echoed.

I closed my bag. "You think I don't know that there can never be a next time, regardless of whatever else may happen in our lives? I've got to get this right. Surely you understand that."

"I think I do." He held me, his hands trembling. "But I don't understand how I missed what was happening. That you weren't taking care of yourself. That I wasn't taking proper care of you."

"Jean-Luc."

"Yes."

"You aren't responsible for me. I am responsible for my own self-care. I slacked off," I said, "and it was my choice to do so. Because it was easier. Because I thought I could pretend that this wasn't a chronic illness." It was my turn to hold him. "You remember when you needed a replacement for your heart?"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes," I told him. "It's the same thing. How many weeks had you gone with symptoms that you ignored? How long did you put off the inevitable? At least," I said, "I recognised what was happening, and I've taken the steps to correct it."

"I hate it when you're right."

I grinned. "I know you do. That's why I try to be right all the time."

He sent da Costa with me. I was pretty pissed off about it, even if I understood the necessity. As close as we were to the Neutral Zone it would still take almost five days to reach SB 515, three if I pushed the shuttle to its full warp capacity. He'd left it to Deanna to tell me, and she went through all the "what ifs" with me – what if I had a flashback while I was piloting the shuttle; what if I had night terrors; what if I started vomiting again. I didn't really think I was close to any of these scenarios – shit. Part of my treatment plan was to be honest with myself in an objective, non-judgmental way. I'd had two flashbacks. I'd recognised them, and I'd managed the way I was supposed to – pausing the memory and placing it back in my file cabinet until I could deal with the memory through treatment. I wasn't vomiting and I wasn't having night terrors. The old nightmare about finding Rosie was back, though. Once it was Rosie in the creek when I'd rounded the bend. The other time it appeared to have been my mother.

Da Costa didn't say much to me when he boarded the shuttle. He'd always been closely in tune to my moods, even when he'd just been my minder in sickbay. I went through the checklist and jumped into warp as soon as we left the shuttle bay. Da Costa wasn't a shuttle pilot, but I didn't expect any issues flying over there. We'd alternate shifts; I'd sleep while he was awake and the shuttle was on autopilot; he'd sleep while I flew.

"Counsellor Troi wanted me to make sure you did your breathing exercises," he said.

"I have," I said, "a list of what I need to do."

"We'll work on your grounding exercises, and get you back into a routine."

Fuck. It was going to be a long flight.

"McBride decided you were coming with me, didn't he?"

He was wearing his stoic face.

"Tell me you're not going to be an asshole for five days, da Costa."

"It will be just like old times," da Costa said, laughing.

"Oh, fuck you, da Costa." I glanced at him. "No offense intended."

"None taken, Commander."

In my determination to get myself to the treatment center, I'd forgotten how much I really disliked McBride.

McBride was waiting for me in the shuttle bay.

"Hello, Will," he said, shaking my hand. "Joao." He embraced da Costa.

"No security?" I asked. I was trying for ironic, but it just came out bitter.

"Do you need security, Will?"

I grinned. It really was McBride. I felt better already. "I taught da Costa how to use the nerve pinch," I said. "I guess that's security enough."

"The changelings were never here, Will." McBride led us out of the shuttle bay in his usual gentle lope. "I thought you might appreciate seeing your quarters first. I'm sure you'd like a chance to shower and rest a little, before dinner."

I followed him down the corridor to the turbo lift, da Costa beside me, the way he'd been when he'd be escorting me back and forth between sickbay and my various treatments. I wondered if he thought he was escorting me now. Before, McBride had left nothing to chance; every aspect of his dealings with me had a therapeutic purpose. Now I was unsure, a feeling that only contributed to my anxiety.

"I have quarters?" I asked, once we were in the turbo lift. "Does that mean I'm not in the –" I still had to fight myself to use the word – "facility?"

"Full stop." McBride was only a two centimeters or so shorter than me, but I always felt, when he looked at me, that he was my size. He'd lowered a couch for me in his treatment room, so that he was facing me directly instead of looking up. I wouldn't have put it past him to be wearing lifts in his shoes. "You are in guest quarters for now," he said, "because that is what we'd decided, Deanna and Joao and I, when we discussed this. However, if it would help you to feel safer, I can arrange for you to have a patient room."

No matter how I said things; jokingly; ironically; always using humour as my first defence, McBride considered everything I said seriously and responded to me in the measured tone he'd always reserved for me.

"I guess I'd feel more relaxed if I understood the setup," I suggested.

McBride smiled. "Of course you would," he agreed. "We can talk about it at dinner, and then after, I'll give you the grand tour."

"Okay."

"I'm still here, Commander," da Costa said. "I'm not going anywhere."

My hands were trembling and I stilled them. I'd predicted that I would be in this space again, during the worst of my illness, and here I was, on leave, back in treatment, a total waste of a command slot. I blinked and looked down.

"Breathe, Will," McBride said.

Fuck, I thought. I breathed.

"You'll get a better picture when we take the tour." The doors opened and McBride stepped out, leading us down a busy corridor. "But we've got four levels of treatment, and you'll be here, Will, on level four, our outpatient wing. Because we're so far away from everything, we had to set up a place for maintenance and retooling that still gives our patients autonomy and choice. So you're in the thick of things, on the base, here, as if you were simply a visitor, rather than a patient." He keyed the door pad and we walked in.

"That's quite a view," da Costa said.

"VIP outpatient, perhaps?" I asked.

"You know Starfleet," McBride answered. "There's a hierarchy to everything. I may be just a civilian doctor, but this is still Starfleet Medical."

"You are hardly just a civilian doctor," I said. His great-aunt was the ruler of the Sixth House of Betazed and he was distantly related to Deanna's mother.

The room looked more like one on McKinley Station, rather than in a medical facility, but perhaps this was the same design used for families and caregivers. Da Costa was right, though. It was quite a view.

"I'll let you settle in," McBride said. "You'll be dining with me in my quarters. I'll be here around 1830 to pick you up. Wouldn't want you to get lost on your first day."

I rolled my eyes. "Da Costa won't be eating with us?"

"He has work to do," McBride answered. "Relax, wander around. The base center is just down this corridor, if you're interested in checking out the amenities."

"I'm free to go?" He'd taken me by surprise.

"You're an outpatient, Will. You chose to come, remember? You're not on orders to be here."

"Right."

I watched them leave, and then I spent the next twenty minutes searching for sharps. Forks and spoons from the replicator only; no knives. I couldn't cook myself a meal even if I'd wanted to.

I didn't leave my new quarters. I'd taken a shower, and changed into civilian clothes, and I'd tried to take a rest. But I was afraid I'd fall asleep, and that if I fell asleep, I'd dream about Rosie again. Sometimes – sometimes I thought about her. It's stupid, I know, but I'd forgotten her for so many years, and now that I remembered her, it was as if I had to catch up to all those years spent not thinking about her. I don't know if that makes any sense; it probably doesn't. But I wondered if it were true, what she'd thought. That there was a special place souls go when people die, and if she'd gone there, if she'd found my mother there. Because she'd told me once, when she'd found me sitting on my rock behind the barn, crying, that all I had to do was picture my mother the way she was in my one hologram of her, and she'd know I was thinking of her, from where she was, not sick any more. Did Rosie know, wherever she was now, that I'd remembered her? That I'd remembered who killed her and why? Did she know when I had my nightmare about finding her? Because somehow in my mind – where I was still stuck, maybe, in magical thinking – I couldn't help imagining her idea of heaven being like what I'd experienced with the Q.

The door chimed. It wasn't the first time in the course of my illness that I'd lost time, but it still unnerved me. Where had I been, I wondered, for the past hour? Maybe I'd fallen asleep, but I was afraid the truth was less simple; I'd begun to dissociate, and it was Billy, not me, who'd been waiting for Dr McBride.

"Come in."

It was da Costa. "Are you all right, Commander?"

"Yeah. I fell asleep, I guess." I followed him into the corridor. "I thought you were working tonight."

"I am," da Costa said, stepping onto the turbo lift. "Dr McBride asked me to escort you."

"Security?" The turbo lift doors closed.

"For you, Commander," da Costa said, "not for anyone else. Dr McBride was concerned you might feel overwhelmed by all the activity, after five days on a shuttle."

The turbo lift stopped and the doors opened to what looked like a busy common area, with a children's playground, and a garden, and a café.

"He thinks I'm that bad off?"

Da Costa stopped, placing his hand on my arm. "No," he said, "Dr McBride doesn't think you're that bad off, as you've put it. But you do, sir."

Well, there was no denying that.

"Many of the doctors live here," da Costa said. "The base school is down that corridor, and then another public garden. The setup is unusual, but I think I like it."

I glanced down at da Costa and then I grinned. We stopped at one of the doors across the entrance to the garden and da Costa pressed the chime. The doors opened and immediately I was overwhelmed by the aroma of hot cooking oil.

"I'll come by to pick you up," da Costa told me, before the doors closed.

McBride walked out, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "There you are, Will," he said, clasping my hand. "I've been trying to get organised, which is why I sent Joao to get you."

"Organised?"

"Come in," McBride said. "Come sit down. I can put some music on, and I'll get you something to drink."

"Doctor –" I began, following him into the other room.

"The man of the hour," Tzippi Cardozo said, hugging me so hard I couldn't breathe. "Ah, William, you look wonderful. _Chag sameach_!"

"Will!" It was Lior's turn to hug me. "Good to see you. Happy Chanukah."

"Look at the poor man," Tzippi said, taking me by the arm, "he's traumatised. Sandy, I told you you should have warned him. Sit down, Will. Lior will make you something to drink."

I sat on the couch. There was a brightly-coloured chanukiya on the table, the candles already lit, the wax dripping down onto the table surface.

"Where are the kids?" I asked.

"Ah," Tzippi answered from the kitchen. "With the grandparents, of course. We didn't want to completely overwhelm you."

"I like your kids," I protested.

"I know you do," Tzippi answered, bringing me a drink I was sure was synthehol. "Here, vodka's perfect for Chanukah."

I took a sip. "Does McBride know you're corrupting me?" I asked.

"It's only for one night. We've got a chanukiya for you," she promised, "Lior's getting it."

"McBride's making the latkes?"

"And you thought my latkes were good," Tzippi replied, laughing. "Wait till you taste the McBride family latkes."

In the midst of all the chaos, Lior bringing out my chanukiya, and setting the candles in, and someone turning on the klezmer Chanukah music, and McBride and a woman I didn't know bring out platters of latkes, and sour cream, and apple sauce, and sufganiyot, I realised my hands were no longer shaking and my legs were no longer numb. Of course, I wasn't Jewish, and I wasn't going to be – I'd never seriously considered converting, even when I'd been taking Lior's classes on the _D_ – and yet the noise and the food and the music was all comforting. Those last years on the _D_ had been the best years, when I'd finally been able to realise that having a family of choice was something to celebrate, not to mourn. I missed Jean-Luc. He was right; he should have been here with me.

"I'd like you to meet my sister, Molly," McBride said.

I stood up and was again engulfed in a hug.

"I've heard so much about you, William," she said. "Thank you, for all that you did for Betazed."

I shrugged. "I guess I should say you're welcome," I answered, "but since it was my father who blew up Rixx, I don't think I deserve much thanks."

"I know more than you think I do, Will Riker," she said. "So, again, thank you."

"Here you go, Will." Lior handed me the shammes candle. "Let's light this one, and then we can eat."

I struck the match and lit the candle. I didn't think I'd remember the blessings, but as Lior began, I was able to join in with everyone else. The candles lit, Lior began with my favourite of the Chanukah songs, Al-Ha'Nissim, and we sang it together, Tzippi sitting beside me and holding my hand.

"I'm so sorry your captain isn't here with us," Tzippi said, "but I expect he's very busy, as usual."

I resisted rolling my eyes, because she was just messing with me, something she'd learned on the _D_. McBride sat beside me, and handed me a plate of latkes.

"Tell me what you think, Will. Are they better than Tzippi's?"

"Is that a trick question?" I asked. "How come the Cardozos are here, anyway? Don't tell me you're related to them, too."

"Lior has accepted a position here," McBride said. "Well?"

"They're terrific," I said, my mouth full.

"And?"

"And I think it's a tie."

"First officers." Tzippi shook her head, and then disappeared into the kitchen.

"How are you holding up?" McBride asked.

I put my plate down. "I'm sure there's a therapeutic reason for all of this," I said. "And at some point you or Joao will tell me, right?

"There's no mystery. You've been suffering by yourself. Afraid to let any of us know, from Jean-Luc to Deanna to me, what was happening. Look around you, Will," McBride said. "You aren't alone. You haven't been alone in many years. I thought you needed to be reminded of that."

I picked up my glass of vodka, but I didn't drink it. "I'm frightened," I said. In all the noise of conversation and music, I was pretty sure only McBride could hear me.

"You've remembered more?" McBride asked.

I nodded. If I stared at the lights, maybe the tears wouldn't come.

"Are you playing _let's hunt the evil_ again?"

That was McBride-speak for guilt and self-blame, for taking on what had been done to me and making it my problem, and not my father's. "Would it save you a lot of time if I just gave up and went mad now?" I asked.

"Do you remember what Ambassador Spock taught you, when you had seder with him on Tu b'Shevat?" McBride took my glass from my hand and set it down on the table.

"He said the gateways were open," I answered, "for those who needed them to be."

"Yes. To travel along the branches of the Tree of Life, Will, you need to go through the gateway. Chanukah is the last of the winter holidays, and with all winter holidays, it's about the miracle of light, shining through the darkness of the winter night. You can take the darkness as literal – Chanukah always occurs near the time of Earth's winter solstice – or you can look at the darkness as a metaphor for the sickness of your soul."

"It's a sickness that has no cure," I said. I missed Jean-Luc. It had been stupid to think I could do this on my own, without him.

"The cure is right in front of you, Will," McBride said. "In the flickering of candlelight, reminding us that without darkness, there can be no light. Without evil, there can be no good. With loss, there can be no love."

"I keep having to learn the same lesson, over and over again." I was remembering what Spock had told me – in praising the life you see around you, your pain is healed.

"That just makes you human, William."

"You don't think I need to be an in-patient?" I didn't want to look at him. Just keep looking at the lights, Will. Hold on to what he's trying to tell you.

"I think that you'll do the work you need to do," Dr McBride said. "And in a week or two, or three, I'll send you home to Jean-Luc."

I thought for a moment, and then I said, slowly, because I wanted to make sure that I was saying what I wanted to say, "Rosie is my candle in the darkness."

"Happy Chanukah, Will," McBride said.

 _Al ha' nissim, v'al hapurkan, v'al hag'vurot, v'al hat'tshuot_ ,

 _v'al hamilchamot sh'asita_ ;

 _lavoteneinu bayamin hahem baz'man hazeh_ ;

 _We thank You, for the miracles, and the deliverance, and the victories,_

 _and the salvation, and the battles that You did for our ancestors in those_

 _days at this time._


End file.
